


A Lesson in Being

by Mobliteration



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, hank is a great dad, hehe, im sorry, low-key fear of heights, we love connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mobliteration/pseuds/Mobliteration
Summary: It's not that you dislike Androids, per say, it's just that, in your line of work, you've only really dealt with the ones that feel the need to hold little girls at gunpoint and stab people repeatedly. Sometimes.Maybe they aren't all that bad.-In which Connor is too good for any of us and reader is a stubborn work-addict that needs some love





	A Lesson in Being

AUGUST 15TH 2038

20:12:37PM

 

Now, you weren’t going to say that you _adored_ your job, but sure, you liked it enough to warrant sitting in your apartment on your _one_ day out of the office with the duty phone sitting neatly on the coffee table in front of you, cold mug of coffee beside it long forgotten, caramel syrup and all.

(You’ll kick yourself for that one later.)

 

You didn’t __mind__  a day off, per say, but you couldn’t seem to shake the jittery tremble in your fingers whenever you found something to fiddle with to occupy your mind for a few minutes.

You pull yourself to your feet and dawdle over to the window overlooking the majority of uptown Detroit, lights blinking in the far-off distance as the dusk tempts in the shadows looming into the urban city.

You plant yourself on the wide windowsill, giving your slumbering Siamese, Jip, enough room as to not disturb her, god forbid. Your head clunks against the double-glazed glass with a light __thump__ , and your gaze is drawn to the clock hanging above the doorway across the room in your peripheral.

  

__20:14:56._ _

__

__20:14:57._ _

__

__20:14:58._ _

__

__20:14:59._ _

__

__20:15 -_ _

__

__

__

__“ Your butt is mine ,_ _ ____  
__Gonna tell you right ,_ _ __  
_ _ __Just show  your face,_ _

__In broad daylight -”_ _

 

You all but fall from your spot on the windowsill, jarring movement rendering Jip to hiss quietly at you from her snug corner amidst your blankets.

“Shit,  _ _fucking__  -”

 

Somehow, you manage to completely disorient yourself and you stare dumbly at the wall in front of you;

 

__“ On how I feel ,_ _ ____  
__Gonna hurt your mind ,_ _ ____  
__Don't shoot to kill ,_ _ __  
_ _ __Come on  -”_ _

__

Throwing yourself around, you surge forward and smack your knee __dead__  into a corner of the table in your haste to nick the phone into your fingers;

Michael Jackson will never quite provoke the same feeling in you ever again.

 

“Lieutenant (Y/N), DCPC reporting.” You wince at your breathlessness.

 

You’re less than pleased to hear Allen’s drone through the line.

 

 “Y/N, we’re calling you in.” You fist-pump and make a mental note to  _ _never__ do that again, even by yourself. You start hurrying around the apartment to find your badge, your gun. “You know the tall apartment building a few blocks away from yours? Where all the sniffers deal next to? 70th floor. Hurry.”

 

The line goes dead and you ardently toss the phone onto the couch as you shrug on your jacket. You scoff.

  
”See, Jip? Totally knew I’d get called in, huh?” She continues grooming and makes you completely aware of her distinct lack of interest after her rude awakening. “Can’t make it a full day without me. Flattering, really.”

 You even the sleeves and tug on the hood of your leather jacket, plodding down on to the seat next to the phone to yank on your boots.

  
”The Sniffer’s block, of all places,” you mentally log the location of the precinct’s popular drug-bust spot. “15 blocks away… I can make that in a few minutes. No probl- “

 

You feel the colour drain from your face as Allen’s voice drawls through your mind:

 

“ _ _70th floor.”__

 

You rise from your spot, tucking your gun into the holster and your badge into your pocket.

 

“Seventy floors, huh?” Jip raises her head and makes an amused burbling sound. You shoot her a glare. “Fuck off.”

 

 

-

 

 

 

“Miller, what the __fuck__  is going on?”

 

When you finally manage to shoulder your way past the seemingly endless stream of DCPD SWAT soldiers trailing around the apartment lobby, you grab your colleague’s sleeve in an attempt to anchor yourself to him.

 “Ah, so I’m guessing you were one of the poor bastards on shift tonight, huh?” He steers you toward the elevator, away from the bustle of evacuating tenants. He pushes the blinking LED button. “Andriod’s gone nuts up on one of the higher floors. Hostage, around 9 years old, threatening to throw himself and her off of the building if he doesn’t get what he wants.” He slams a closed fist into the elevator button, muttering under his breath. “ _ _Fuckin’ thing -__ can you believe it? Yet another plastic off his nut.”

 You take a deep inhale as you attempt to process the clusterfuck of knowledge he’s just unloaded on you. Finding something to busy yourself with, you take out your pistol and inspect it. You take a quick scan of the room, noticing in particular the distinct lack of DCPD, and the overwhelming number of SWAT crew. Didn't take a genius to figure who was leading this one.

 “Jesus, another deviant case?” Not even five minutes in and you feel a familiar pressure under your temple. That’s what you get for refusing to actually sleep whilst you could instead of just waiting for the phone to ring. You flip the solid metal over in your hand, fiddling with the safety. “Swear we only put the previous case to bed last night.”

 He answers with a weary snort.

 “You’re telling me.”

 Despite your own fatigue, you feel a pang of sympathy for him; Chris had been assigned to every deviant case across Detroit in the past few weeks, barely finding enough time for a cup of coffee, let alone a good night’s sleep. As the two of you wait in silence, you give his arm an encouraging pat and he gives you a weak smile.

The elevator __finally__ dings open and the two of you hurry inside, tucking your gun away safely into its holster.

You ardently decide __not__ to focus on the never-ending ascending numbers beside the door and focus instead on the concept of that nine year-old dangling over the edge of a bottomless drop surrounded in a few hundred twinkling lights, a plastic hand the only thing keeping her from becoming putty on the busy street a few hundred feet below.

 

Your stomach surges and you lean against the metal bar for support.

 

“You alright?” Chris’ eyes meet yours and it takes him a matter of seconds to clock on. “Hey, I’m sorry you got dragged into this. If there were anybody else with your level of ability, you know I would’ve-”

 

“It’s alright, man, don’t over think it,” you straighten yourself and watch the numbers blink higher and higher above the doors. “You’ve got more than enough on your plate, I’m fine.”

 You can tell he’s not convinced by your distinct lack of colour and trembling hands fiddling with the knot in your bracelet, but he lets it go.

"This is crazy, what's happening to all of these androids." You watch him shove his hands in his pocket and sigh. "Seems like more and more cases pile up each week nowadays. It's almost like deviancy is becoming some kind of fucking virus with these things." he chuckles humorlessly. "Almost makes me miss the days where petty robbery was the only thing we had to deal with."

You scoff.

"That's a lie and we both know it," your cheeky grin is contagious, despite the situation and time of day and, well, everything. "You love this shit, you can't fool me, Miller."

"Damn, caught my bluff. What a prick you've painted me as, (Y/N)."

"And don't you forget it, bub." You shoot him the finger-gun and he cracks a laugh under his fist. "Your ass, much like this case, is cracked wide open."

You share a laugh, despite yourself, and Chris wipes an imaginary tear away.

"Dude, that's sick." He meets your eye. "It scares me to think that this is the shit you get off on," he gestures. "All of this stuff; never sleeping, living off of about seven cups of coffee a day, give or take."

"I don't get off on the idea of androids traumatising little girls and their families, Chris," you pick up on his shoulders drooping a bit. "But I  _ _do__ get off on imagining you and your deft hands logging crime data, lemme tell ya," he scoffs deep in this throat and shakes his head. "And when you break out those handcuffs and tell someone their rights?" you rub your hands over you thighs over-dramatically. "Red Ice ain't got shit on that-"

He finally snaps and pushes you away across the elevator with a laugh deep from his belly. You chuckle and play-fight him off. "For fuck sake, man, I just had a kid, you can't play me like that anymore."

You poke your tongue out at him.

"Your loss, son,"

He stretches to give you a high-five and you grin at him. "Congrats, by the way."

He beams. 

"I know, right."

 

 

When you reach the 70th floor, the doors glide open and you blank.

 

It’s… unsettlingly quiet, only two men - heavily armoured, mind you, guarding the entrance to the apartment. You and Chris flash your badges and head forwards to find Allen, the Captain of the SWAT team. In the distance you can hear the blades of a helicopter churning somewhere in the distance, sending a gust through the entirety of the room. You jump as Chris bumps into you, avoiding something out of you view with a disgusted “ _ _Ew,”__ that you decide to ignore.

“It’s a fucking mess in here,” you both turn the corner into the main living area, the smell of fresh blood and smoke filling your sinuses. There’s furniture scattered everywhere, police markers strewn about. “Chris, you go find Allen, I’ll take a look around and see what I can find.”

He nods at you and you split, your first destination being the kitchen. The second you turn around the pillar, a sob echoes through you.

 

“Oh, jesus, __please__ tell me it’s her-”

You don’t get a chance to respond or even look at the source of the cry before someone slams into you, their hands gripping your shoulders with enough force to bruise. When you finally get a second to look, your face drops as you come eye-to-eye with, who you presume to be, the hostage’s mother.

“You have to help my daughter, that __fucking__ psychopath has her on the edge of the roof-”

 

“M-Ma’am, I-” she gives you no opportunity to speak, and you wince at the force of her grip; she’s beyond the point of hysterical.

 

“ ** **PLEASE,**** you HAVE to HELP HER-” she’s cut off by another sob racking her body, and she all but falls into you. You glare at the soldier behind her, and he gives you a helpless shrug. 

 

Men.

 

You take a deep breath.

 “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m not the negotiator,” you pry her off of you gently, and you pull a tissue out from your pocket, offering it to her. She blinks at it. You tuck it into her fingers. “But they’re on their way, and they’ll get here as quickly as they can, I promise.”

 She sinks to her knees, and you go down with her, hands wrapped around her elbows for support.

 “She’s my little girl.” She looks you dead in the eye, and you steel yourself to keep your nerve and hold her gaze. Her fingers tighten around your forearms. “She shouldn’t have been wrapped up in any of this. She - She was his __friend__. She cared about him so much.” She holds the tissue up to her face, looking out at the glass doors across the stretch of the apartment. “She loved him so much. And - And __now-”__  

 

“ I swear to __god__ , if any one of you steps out of that door, I’m blowing my fucking __brains out!”__

 

You have to suppress your own shudder at the sound of the deviant’s voice cutting through the apartment. The mother convulses in your arms and you tuck her into you.

He sounds so… __desperate__. At this point, he’s practically a cornered animal; nothing to lose. More shouts echo, and your heart twinges at the pure emotion drenching his cries; he’s so __angry__ , you can’t comprehend the idea of that much rage being programmed into a sentient being who’s main role is to help.

The radio in your pocket surges to life:  

 

“ _ _Negotiator on-site, I repeat, negotiator on-site-”__

__

The static drills right through you, and you’re thrown aside as the woman clambers to her feet and darts across the room, a hand clasped over her mouth to prevent another sob from leaving. You try not to look too relieved.

 You sigh, climbing to your feet. The gust picks up again as the chopper circles in closer - a news coverage team, most likely.

 

“Y/N?”

 

You jog over to Chris at the call of your name, avoiding the pooling blood on the polished floor. As you approach, you see his face whiten as Allen turns away from him.

 

“...What?”

 Chris paces in front of you and with every step your resolve thins. He’s tense, shoulders drawn up and stuck there, a hand rubbing over his head.

 “The negotiator?” He stops and grabs your arm. “They -they sent a __fu-”__

__

“ _ _An__ ** _ ** _Android_**_**?”

 

Your stomach bottoms out.

 

“You - You can’t __do__ that..!” Her screams echo through the apartment, and you hear Allen curse under his breath. Chris drops your arm and distances himself, most likely to keep himself from harming you. “Why aren’t you sending a __real person?!”__

Her screams die out as she’s escorted out of the apartment, and all goes still. Allen and Miller decide to resume looking at whatever it is they’ve brought up on the screen in front of them, murmuring intensely under hushed breath. You decide to leave them to it, and make your way back towards the kitchen, glancing down at the neat floorboards beneath you when -

 

You walk straight into a firm presence, and before you can tilt off-balance, a pair of strong hands hold your shoulders, keeping you in place.

 

“Ah, shit, sorry, I wasn’t-”

You're interrupted by a gentle voice.

 

“Good evening. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

 

You tilt your head up.

 

It - __He’s__.. tall. Almost overbearingly so - you have to crane your neck to get a good look with how close he is to you. His complexion is pale and simple, dotted with freckles and a set of expressive eyebrows contouring his dark eyes. A small tuft of hair falls neatly out of its rightful place with the rest of his mahogany locks, and for some reason you have to resist the urge to tuck it out of the way. At this point, you know you’re staring, and so does he, but you presume he won’t comment on it - or let go of you - until you break the ice.

You take a hesitant step back, out of his grip and try not to dwell on the way his hands slide down your arms.

 

“Nice to meet you, Connor,” even after taking a step back, he seems to dwarf you in his lanky height.”I’m guessing you’re already filled in on the situation, so, have a look around and do what you gotta do.”

His reaction seems to lag; his eyes are baring into yours, a small smile tugging at his lips. You arch a brow, and his expression relaxes.

“Right, thank you, Detective.” He turns a bit, scanning the span of the room for something. “Do you know where I might find Captain Allen?”

You bare your teeth. You quickly look around, placing your arm on his sleeve and steering him away from prying eyes and ears.

“You, uh, might not want to do that, Connor,” the name feels foreign on your tongue, and your focus is drawn to the LED on his temple blinking yellow. Fascinated, you watch his gaze slide from yours over to where Miller and Allen are set up across the room. “He already knows you’re here, and, uh-”

“I’m aware that my presence was unprecedented this evening, Detective. But my instructions require me to report to the Captain before I can do anything else in this case.” he gives you a small smile. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Before he can walk away, something within you causes you to reach out and grasp onto the sleeve of his jacket. He looks at your enclosed fist first, and then to you again.

"Uh, I - I -" what the fuck did you just do? Why did you have to distract him? Why the  _ _fuck__  can't you let go of his arm? "You probably already know this, but just - " you fumble over your words. "Be careful. And... shit." He blinks at you and you feel your neck warm. "Don't get hurt or anything."

He looks back at your hand enclosed over his arm.

__What the hell just happened?_ _

You rip your hand away and tuck it into your pocket. Connor meets your eye and gives you a small smile. You nod awkwardly and walk away. 

Jesus.

 

At the echoing __click__ of each step he takes, you can't help but watch from your new position across the floor as Allen and Miller distinctly shrug both Connor and his questions off, and you have to suppress a strange feeling of silent distress rising in you at their blatant dismissal; he was here to  _ _help__ , why was nobody helping  _ _him__?

Connor seems to take it on the chin; unflinching, he takes a scan of them room, a full 360, and makes his way into one of the rooms at the back of the apartment. You take his absence as an opportunity to make your way back over to Allen's make-shift command centre. You don't hesitate to turn Chris around to face you, gloved hand on his shoulder. 

"What the hell was that?"

He bristles.

"What?"

You sigh, patience wearing thin.

"Don't fuck me around, Chris," you gesture to the room Connor had disappeared in to. "Why did you just brush him off like that? He's the negotiator, he needs our cooperation to figure out how to approach the situation."

Allen turns around.

"You really think that heap of plastic is gonna do fuck all?" He rises from his seat, and you square your shoulders. "He's a machine, Detective," he spits the pronoun at you. You resist the urge to curl your fingernails into your palm. "He can't tell any of us apart, let alone know how to talk down a psycho robot with a child hostage. The only reason I'm giving him time of day is because I'm doing what I'm trained to do - follow orders." He gives you a once over and your elbows lock. "I suggest you do the same and keep an eye on the prick."

Ah, you loved being spoken to like a pile of shit.

"Watch your mouth, Allen," you see Chris tense beside you and you wet your lips. "Don't want you speaking out of turn and getting a disciplinary again, do we?"

You see him go to take a step towards you. You hold out a hand. He stops, jaw tendon flexing.

"You don't get to - "

"I know what I'm here to do, Captain. So you carry on looking important and staring at your laptop chatting shit and doing fuck all for the next twenty minutes with Chris, and I'll go and bring some worth into this investigation and actually make an effort to at least half-ass my job." You feel a thrill climb up your spine at the way the Captain's eyes lock on to yours.

Insubordination is fucking  _ _fun.__

"Deal?"

Before he has a chance to respond, you turn on your heel and pluck your notebook from your inner pocket to begin taking notes of the scene around you in an attempt to calm the electricity running through you. 

You're a  _ _good__  girl, as Hank so aptly puts it; you've never spoken to anyone like that in your  _ _life__ , let alone a superior in your force. You know you're in for a beat-down if Fowler catches word, but at least Anderson would be proud. You sketch the outline of the apartment and let your mind drift to the so-called "heap of plastic" wandering around the apartment, kneeling occasionally to get a closer look at a piece of evidence encircled by police markers. A part of you wants to join in, give him a hand and maybe let him know that not everyone around him innately hates his polymerised guts, but you restrain yourself; you can't let yourself forget that a child's life hangs in the balance, despite your seemingly overwhelming urge to give him a fist-bump and a smile. You give up on logging the info for now and tuck your notebook away, fiddling with the pen.

You're so wrapped up in your own head, you hardly notice Connor rising to his full height again, eyes locked on the full-length windows separating the police team from the situation on the terrace outside.

Your eyes lock onto his from across the room, steely irises locking yours in place. You don't know what compels you to do so, but you give him a small encouraging smile. He almost looks... shaken by it. By such a simple show of humanity. You decide not to overthink that. For now.

He reciprocates - your defence mechanisms put it down to some social-protocol programming bullshit -and makes his way across the room to his destination, LED flickering yellow-blue. You make a mental note to look up what that means exactly later, as if you might actually ever see him again after tonight. After the confrontation.

Connor halts at the drape attempting to segregate the warmth of the apartment from the blistering gust kicking around outside. You see Miller and Allen raise their heads from their own heated discussion, a few nearby soldiers averting their attention towards the Andriod from CyberLife about to attempt what none of them had the balls to even consider.

He catches your eye once more. He smiles; a full, bright smile that has your veins thudding; a smile for you.

He throws the curtain aside and steps into the blinding white of the terrace.

 

 

You and a handful of others stand closely to the open door - you flinch and watch as a bullet plants itself into Connor’s shoulder, the spray of fresh blood painting the window in front of you. Despite its blue nature, your insides still churn.

 

You watch as he turns to face the deviant, arms at his sides, unwavering.

 

 

 

 

“Hi, Daniel. My name is Connor.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> wow ok
> 
> so i haven't written a fic in ages  
> never a multi-chapter fic
> 
> this will probs be the worst chapter of them all i over analyse every little detail so im sorry if it takes me a while to get the next one out hehe  
> i love this fandom and connor warms me heart so  
> i will write for as long as u shall like to read
> 
> x


End file.
